Patrick looked up, surprised to see one of Gwen Kellerman’s bodyguards. He didn’t appreciate being summoned like a servant. The Salvation Army had a tiny crew of overworked employees, and he would finish his duties before darting off to see what Mrs. Kellerman wanted. She had effectively torn his conscience to shreds last week by showing him her college’s ambitious plans to cure the world’s diseases. She’d been kind, gentle, and lethally effective in the way she did it. Unlike the rest of her family, she was a thoroughly decent person. She was womanly and earthy and kind.

And alluring. She sparked a raw, primitive desire to haul her behind one of those fancy college buildings and kiss her breathless.

Patrick scowled and went back to washing the pot. “Tell her I’ll come when I’m done cleaning up.”

The thick-necked bruiser retreated, and Patrick went back to scrubbing. He shouldn’t feel guilty for noticing that Mrs. Kellerman was a looker. Any man with a pulse would notice. She was Eve bearing the apple; Delilah tempting Samson. She was surely here to tempt him with something else to scuttle Mick’s book, and he steeled himself against it.

He half expected her to be gone by the time he emerged an hour later onto the sweltering city street, but she sat alongside her two bodyguards at a sidewalk table outside the Italian deli across the street.

She didn’t belong in this neighborhood. It was gritty and loud, and the smells . . . well, the fishmonger’s shop two doors down couldn’t be expected to smell like a garden. The tannery smelled even worse, and moldering trash littered the alleys. Her gown was a soft, filmy shade of white and her hair a glorious cascade spilling down her back. She looked like a long-stemmed rose among shabby weeds.

“Back again, Mrs. Kellerman?” he teased. “I’m beginning to think you’ve got a thing for dirt-poor lawyers.” Flirting was second nature to him, and he was glad she didn’t seem offended. He yanked out a chair and helped himself to a seat. “I hope you’re not here asking for help to stop Mick’s book. I’m all set to go before a judge next Friday, and your family doesn’t have a prayer of winning an injunction.”

It was almost impossible to block a book before publication. He’d been preparing for weeks, and the law was on his side.

“The injunction is my uncle’s idea, not mine,” she replied. “None of us want Mick Malone to benefit from his crime, but what I care about more than anything is learning what happened to my brother. Did you know my father once offered a $100,000 reward to whoever could solve the mystery of William’s disappearance?”

Her voice was nonchalant, but she watched him intently. She was about to fire her first salvo.